


What Could Have Been

by paulmcfartney



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: M/M, McLennon, Modern AU, paul is dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcfartney/pseuds/paulmcfartney
Summary: The One Where They Get Engaged Ft. An Exceedingly™ Anxious John





	What Could Have Been

John Lennon was terribly anxious. Paul could sense it from a mile away, although it was sometimes difficult to tell, as he was excellent at hiding his feelings. It was in the way he carried himself, how his voice faltered whenever he asked Paul out that night, how unusually timid he was acting as he picked him up outside his apartment. He seemed jumpy even as they walked down the street to their destination, the small retro diner that had become one of their favorite haunts while living in New York City. The way that he was acting made Paul incredibly curious as he observed him as best as he could, noting how his hands were crammed deep into his trouser pockets, and how his fingers moved around beneath the fabric, making it increasingly obvious that John was fiddling with something. Nevertheless, they continued on down the sidewalk, Paul's unhurried stride making him fall slightly behind John's quick one.

They took their seats across from each other in the small booth in the corner of the restaurant. The general atmosphere of the diner was cute, with the little chrome accents all around and the shimmering royal purple seats. A large mural was painted on the back wall, including several vintage cars and motorcycles, next to an old jukebox that the owners bad added not too long ago. It played on its own mostly, changing songs as it pleased, and Paul could head it blurting out one of John's favorite songs from the fifties: Be-Bop-A-Lula by Gene Vincent. Usually, if a song he liked came on, John would be singing the world along with the track, doing some oddly sexy dance to the music to get Paul's attention. This time, however, was vastly different, as John was dead silent, looking out the window with nervous eyes. At this point, Paul also grew impatient, thinking in fear that something might be terribly wrong. Before he could speak up, the perky waitress skidded over to their table on her roller skates and asked what they wanted to drink. "I'll have a banana milkshake please," Paul answered politely, still eyeing John suspiciously out of the corner of his eye, who was seemingly in a daze, as he didn't notice at first that both Paul and that poor waitress were still staring.

"John?" Paul spoke up, bringing him out of his racing thoughts. "Oh, sorry, I'll have a banana milkshake as well," John spoke quickly, his voice shaking at his unknown nerves. Paul snuck a peek at his phone for the time as the waitress rolled away, before turning his concerned gaze back to the man across the table. He examined his face, John's thick eyebrows furrowed together in thought, how he'd pulled both his lips into his mouth to chew at them. Paul'd had about enough of his boyfriend's odd behavior, and was determined to find out what was going on, even if the truth ended up hurting him in the long run. "Alright, darlin'?" Paul questioned, trying to coax something out of the man's mouth. He'd caught his wandering eye for a moment before he looked back down at his menu. "Yeah," he replied shortly, glancing back over at Paul again and realizing that he wasn't going to settle for one silly half-hearted 'yeah.' "I'm j-just not feelin' well, is all," John continued slowly, stuttering pathetically even thought he was trying so hard to convince Paul.

Just as expected, Paul was seemingly far from being convinced as he raised an eyebrow in his direction. The waitress returned with their milkshakes and took their orders, John ordering a simple hamburger and Paul ordering his usual: the diner's famous roast beef dinner. The waitress went away again, leaving John and Paul in the strange silence that had surrounded their table. They sipped their banana milkshakes, John watching intently outside as the cars passed by the restaurant. Paul could feel the table shaking from John's leg bobbing up and down underneath, brushing a foot along the side of his trousers to make him stop. Paul eyed him, and John could feel another interrogation on the way.

"Are you sure that you're alright, John?" the man pushed with pleading eyes, taking John's hand and smoothing his thumb over his knuckles, concerned. "I told you, I'm just not feelin' one hundred percent," John chuckled lightly, trying to ease some of the tension that had grown substantially thicker. Paul sighed and continued to sip on his drink, still keeping his attention focused on the man across from him, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm gonna use the toilet," John blurted out suddenly, pulling his now clammy palm away from Paul's and stood up shakily before strutting off to the restroom.

Paul was extremely overwhelmed by all of the negative thoughts running through his head. 'Oh God, what if he doesn't feel the same anymore?' Paul worried silently, the ball in his throat growing larger by the second. 'What if he wants to be just friends?' Paul thought back to the long period of time where they were 'just friends,' how excruciating it was to not be able to kiss him and hold him as he wanted. Even the mere thought of it was terrifying, not getting to see the one person he truly loved the most on a daily basis. The other side of him was saying that maybe he really didn't feel well after all, that he'd been telling the truth all along. The flu had been going around for a little over a month now, and he couldn't remember the last time John had a flu shot, so he's probably just come down with a nasty case of it. Still, something was telling him that John was just off, and he was going to get it out of him sooner or later.

Meanwhile, John found himself in the bathroom, two hands gripping the bowl of the sink and hunched over, trying to catch his breath. God--he'd never felt this painfully anxious in his life. He was having a major problem keeping himself composed in front of Paul, who was genuinely concerned that something was wrong. And nothing was terribly wrong or anything, other than the fact that he felt as if his insides were slowly turning to mush and about to spew out of his mouth. It was that little piece of jewelry in his pocket that was causing all this trouble, the small, golden ring that felt like a million pounds holding him down like a weight. John dug the thing out of his pocket and examined it in terror, careful not to drop it down the drain. He ran his fingers along the smooth, cool metal, wondering how Paul would react when he got down on one knee before him, peering up into those brilliant, warm eyes as they clouded over with fresh, bubbling tears. That was the way he had hoped that it would go, but it seemed like Paul was getting slightly pissed off with his behavior. John didn't blame him one bit, knowing that if the roles had been switched, he would've came right out to Paul and said "What the fuck is your problem, mate?" The sweat that had broken out on his brow had grown more persistent, and he shoved the shimmering ring back into his pocket before splashing the crisp water in his face. Looking himself in the eye through the mirror he took a deep breath. "Get a fuckin' grip, mate," he told himself sternly. "You're gonna propose to James Paul fucking McCartney. He's gonna accept without a second thought, and you're gonna get fucking married in the tiny chapel down the street, and it's gonna a be goddamn beautiful." A sense of determination surged through his veins, knowing that he didn't just have to do this, but that he wanted to do this. Walking out of that restroom took all of the courage that he could muster, but he was glad that he finally did, as he probably would have never came out.

As soon as he saw John walking back to their table, Paul felt the most enormous sense of relief that he hadn't climbed out a fucking window and ran off. Now that he thought about it, he wouldn't have been surprised if John had done that, given his current mangled state. By that time, their food had arrived, and Paul had already started to nibble at his gravy-covered roast beef. "You were in there for almost ten minutes," Paul half grumbled, obviously annoyed by John's strange antics. Paul sighed, thinking 'Do I get down to business before or after we eat?' He ended up waiting until after they finished their meals as they sucked down their second round of banana milkshakes. John seemed much calmer now and even grinned at Paul a few times, his thin lips still wrapped around the thick straw. Paul had even considered not bothering to say anything at this point, but as they left the diner, he could still see that John was fidgeting nervously with whatever he had tucked away in his pocket.

They roamed the city streets aimlessly, not caring much where they went as long as they were together. John's hand was now tangled with Paul's, something that the younger man hadn't expected from him tonight given his odd attitude. Their legs carried them to Central Park, strolling leisurely among the row of marvelously lit trees in the dim sunset. A young woman plucked gently at her guitar on a wooden bench off to the side in the grass, playing a song they'd both come to love by one of Paul's favorite artists, Ed Sheeran. The soft music in the background made the scene seem surreal and Paul almost instinctively leaned further into John's drifting figure, who placed a lingering kiss to his temple as they continued on leisurely. An older man passing by in the opposite direction raised his white eyebrows, surprised at his gesture, but continued on silently when John threw him a sort of venomous death glare.

The romantic atmosphere had the gears in John's mind working rapidly, trying to think of what he was going to say to Paul when he dropped down on one knee. A few days prior, he'd written out a whole speech and told himself that that he would memorize it for Paul at some point. Given his now panicking state, he regretted not at least looking over the note he'd written on his phone more than once. What he'd come up with was half decent and would probably still have Paul all teary-eyed by the end of it, but it definitely wasn't his best work. Besides, everyone always says that some of their greatest achievements have been improvised, and bullshitting was thankfully second nature to John.

"Macca?" John spoke up, his voice cracking terribly. His tone yet again worried Paul to pieces. He felt like running off and hiding somewhere in the park, where John's seemingly horrible news couldn't reach him, somewhere where he could just curl into a ball and wallow in his own self-pity. Nevertheless, he replied with a quick "Yeah?" wanting to make this virtually as painless as possible. 'Here we go,' he thought to himself as he felt Paul tense up beside him. John took a deep breath like he had before in the restroom and exhaled, trying to will away all of the shaking and numbness that was now involuntarily creeping its way up his body. "We've been together for so long now," he started, cringing internally as he realized that it wasn't the best way to start off this sort of thing. Paul could hear his intense heartbeat thrumming in his ears, unrelenting. 'This is it. This is where he's gonna break up with me,' Paul couldn't help but think, trying his very hardest to hold himself together and not burst into tears in front of John.

The older man stopped walking and stood to face Paul in the center of the sidewalk. They were still surrounded by those stunning trees lit by the scattered fairy lights. John silently cursed himself for having not booked a photographer to capture this moment from behind a bush or something. He continued, meeting Paul's searching eyes and taking both his hands in his. "You remember how that lad on the Tony's last year said that love is love is love...and so forth?" John rambled nervously, genuinely not believing that he was actually coming up with this on the spot. "You mean Lin-Manuel Miranda?" Paul questioned, confused with where he was going with this little speech, and quite frankly, John felt the exact same. "Yeah I guess," he replied quickly, trying to make his point. "Well, u-uh, I'm so incredibly thankful that I uh, that you're the one that I have the chance to give all of my love to," he babbled cautiously, thinking thoroughly about his words before they flew out of his mouth for once in his life. John inched closer to Paul and searched his eyes for reassurance that what he was saying was actually comprehensible. Judging by the rosy blush heating its way up the man's round cheeks, John figured that he was doing just fine. Paul averted his gaze downward momentarily, not wanting John to see the fierce pink tint in his cheeks. He couldn't keep himself from beaming as the man in front of him went on.

"God Paul, you are without a doubt the most extraordinary being in the face of this planet," John gushed, tugging a slight giggle from the younger man's perky lips. The ring in his pocket somehow felt much lighter than it ever had before, and it urged John on even further. Before continuing, he released Paul's hands and brought his own up to cup his chilled, round cheeks, tilting Paul's head so that he could leave a single kiss on the center of his forehead where the dark hair was chopped off in a straight line across. "You are my rock, my best mate, my lover, and my lifelong soulmate. I wouldn't rather anyone else at my side picking on me all day other than you, you git." Both men chuckled this time. 'It's now or never, John,' he repeated over and over again in his head. Taking another calming breath, he continued. "Take my hand," he commanded softly, catching Paul's flattered, yet still confused gaze. "Why?" he asked as his thin, arched eyebrows creased together, which John found ridiculously adorable, as the younger was still grinning from ear to ear throughout all of this. "I'm trying to ask you to marry me so take my bloody hand!" John blurted out, giggling when he heard the soft, shocked gasp float from Paul's parted lips.

Sinking down to one knee, just as he had pictured in his mind, he took Paul's trembling palm while the fingers on his other hand pulled the simple, shining gold band from his pocket, holding it up towards Paul's thrilled, tearing eyes. "James Paul McCartney," he started out, beaming up at the incredibly lovely man above him. "It would be a real fuckin' honor if you gave me the pleasure of being your husband." John barely choked out the last line, as he was teetering on the verge of completely losing it. Thankfully, Paul had already lost every last bit of his composure, his lustrous hazel eyes clouding over with tears, just as John had imagined. "Jesus Christ, John, of course!" Paul exclaimed, ecstatic and fully ready to jump right on top of the older man kneeling before him. John rose to his feet, heart racing with adrenaline and passionate love for the man who was now leaving short little kisses all over the expanse of his angular face and neck.

Their mouths finally met after all of this fuss, John unable to stop smiling crazily against Paul's soft, urgent lips. He could feel tears start to wet his cheeks, and he had really thought that it was Paul at first. John soon realized that the cool wetness on their faces was leaking from his own two eyes, in absolute relief that this whole ordeal had gone exactly according to his plans. Paul untangled his fingers from John's thick locks of auburn hair and offered him his palm. John took the modest band and slipped it gingerly onto Paul's slender ring finger, admiring how fitting it seemed on the man's hand. They both chuckled excitedly, unable to fully believe that they were now engaged. John raised his puffed, red eyes to look into Paul's, not caring that he would see the light tears stinging his eyes and streaming down his face. The younger man inched a hand up to his angular jawline and brushed a tear away with his thumb, his warm eyes twinkling brightly. They kissed again, holding nothing back except for the slight whimpers that threatened to escape out of their sheer joy.

Later that night, they lay naked under the tangled bed sheets, whispering contentedly into the other's ear. Paul's warm torso was strewn directly over John's, and his chin was set on the man's chest so that he could see the bright glint in his eyes. The older man's roaming hand combed lazily through Paul's dark, sweaty locks, brushing it out of his doe eyes and behind his ears and anywhere else he could, just so that he could always see that hopeful, boyish face that he adored. "You are incredible, Paul McCartney," John rasped lowly, his voice having been worn out by their activity prior. He ran a single finger down the bridge of Paul's nose, which caught on his lower lip, causing a goofy smile to break out on his otherwise exhausted face. The younger man nuzzled his face into John's bare chest, leaving a single tender kiss in the center and pressing his ear over John's calm heartbeat. He began to trace little patterns with the tips of his fingers up and around John's neck, swirling around his Adam's apple and over his sharp jaw. John only hugged him closer in response, placing both hands on the small of his back and holding him there steadily. Paul could feel himself slipping out of consciousness, hearing John breathe a light "I love you," before drifting off into a deep sleep.

Amidst the short tale of anxious hands and misunderstandings, the two men were able to find each other, and wouldn't be letting go until death do them part. And when that seemingly dreaded day would come, both men would welcome it with open arms, for they knew deep down in their hearts that they would be together again soon enough.


End file.
